


Show Me

by Dancingsalome



Series: Fabien and Sophie [1]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingsalome/pseuds/Dancingsalome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophie needs Fabien Marchal to survive, but she is not prepared to let him dictate all the terms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after season one. Though this fic was written before season 2 was aired, it still works as something happening between the two seasons. The sequels are all firmly canon divergence-fics.
> 
> I like Sophie and her survival instincts. She’s in a rather hopeless situation after her mother’s death and if submitting to Fabien’s demands isn’t a good option, it’s still better than being turned out on the street with no means of support at all. And even if she is dependent of Fabien, she doesn’t seem to be afraid of him- perhaps, as she says, she has not much to loose anymore. I see her as a person who retains her autonomy despite her agreed subservience and I hope I manage to show that in this fic.
> 
> What isn’t clear in the show, though evident if you check the actual historical events, is that even if season 1 starts in 1667, it ends in 1670. Which means, if you are concerned by underage, that Sophie, who is sixteen in 1667, must be nineteen in the final episode.

It was late at night and most of the occupants of Versailles were asleep, but Sophie de Clermont stood in her chamber and stared into a mirror. She had been summoned and had changed her clothes, putting the same care into her appearance as if she was to go to a ball. Her gown was new, but not in the silks and velvets she usually favoured, but soft wool in warm shades of green. It was not meant to be worn on a grand, formal occasion, and instead of a boned bodice the fabric was pleated around her body, held into place only by a belt with a jewelled clasp. And though she wore her corset underneath, she had not laced herself as hard as she usually did, which gave her an unexpected sense of freedom. The skirt of the gown was split in front and draped up over her hips, revealing a silk petticoat in gold, the colour repeated in the bows decorating the neckline and sleeves. It suited her well, she thought, the colours complimenting her skin and making it look even whiter than usual. But, most important of all, it was a fashion her mother had never worn. Tonight Sophie wanted nothing about her serving as a reminiscence of her missing parent.

The memory of her mother sent a sharp pang of grief through her. There was nothing left of Beatrice in these rooms, everything she had owned had been collected and removed as if she had never lived there. Fabien Marchal had refused to give anything back, claiming everything needed to be analysed for information. “I hate you!” Sophie had screamed, but he had just shrugged and reminded her of of the deal they had made and that she better keep her temper in check. Sophie had cried, more out of rage than grief, but she had stopped trying to antagonise him further. Now she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful for not having any tokens, perhaps it was easier to not have anything that could serve as remembrance. Memories alone was hard enough to bear. 

But if Sophie hated Fabien for what he had done, she sometimes felt she hated her mother too for keeping all these secrets from her. She wasn’t even sure if Sophie had been the name given to her at birth, perhaps it had been changed when Beatrice had created the elaborate fantasy that had enabled them to come to court. Now everything Sophie did, even the ordinary little things she had always seen as natural parts of her life, were tainted by doubt. Not even Mass brought solace now when she knew she had been raised to believe in a religion her mother had viewed with hatred and contempt. Were you allowed to be sincere in your faith when it wasn’t really yours? And though she longed to pour out her heart at confession, Sophie didn’t dare to speak of the secrets she had to carry. More and more she felt like she was walking blind on slippery floors, never knowing when she would fall. But even if this made her think of her mother at times with angry resentment, she missed her so much more and the grief could overpower her at the most inconvenient occasions. But not now, now she wouldn’t dwell on the past, tonight she needed to think of her future. 

Sophie carefully scrutinised her face, glad she must resemble the father she couldn’t remember and not Beatrice. She lightly dusted her face with powder, foregoing any other makeup and she had dressed her hair looser than usual, the heavy black mass of curls bound by just a few pins. When she was satisfied with how she looked she took another glance at the small note she had received under her door earlier in the evening. Ever since she had made her deal with Fabien, she had received similar notes several times, demanding her to deliver a report to him. So far all he had asked of her were detailed accounts of court gossip and what she had gleaned from conversations no one knew she overheard. To her surprise she had found she was quite adept in spying and she found a certain satisfaction in doing it well.

People had quickly stopped asking her about her mother’s absence, accepting the explanation of a sudden ill health forcing her to retire home to Pau. It was simply not very exciting news, and no one seemed to have any idea that Beatrice de Clermont hadn’t been who she had said she was. Without her mother to push her forward, Sophie could melt into the crowds of pretty women, spending her days like any other court lady with gossip and card games. She had hoped no one would find her noteworthy, but she gradually realised that a pretty girl alone at court was seen as fair game for the many two-legged vultures there. She had not understood before how much her mother had protected her from unwanted attention, and Chevalier who might have stepped into the role of her protector, had left Versailles with Monsieur. Fabien Marchal had made it clear when Madame died that he would do nothing that would make their connection apparent, and Sophie had spent a lot of time thinking of her options. She needed to find the means to protect herself and if Fabien wasn’t willing to be seen as her patron, she would make him help her, nevertheless.

Sophie found Fabien as she always did, at his desk surrounded by books and papers. He barely looked at her, the only sign he was prepared to listen was picking up his quill to make notes as she spoke. It gave her the freedom to watch him unnoticed, and as carefully as she had studied herself earlier, she now studied him. He was as always dressed in dark brown, but though the cut was simple, the fabric was fine and the clothes well cared for and neatly turned out. The only concession to the late hour was his cravat laying abandoned on his desk and his shirt was open at the neck. When Sophie disregarded her feelings for him, she had to admit he was an attractive man. There was no grey in his dark hair yet, he had all his teeth still and his features was regular and without blemishes. His movements were always balanced and graceful, even in the smallest gesture as now when only his hand moved as he wrote. And he had beautiful hands, strong and capable looking, very clean and with well-kept nail. Hands which was good for doing all sorts of things, many of them terrible and cruel. It was an unsettling thought, and Sophie quickly pushed it away.

When she had finished her report he dismissed her, but Sophie remained, standing silently in front of him. He ignored her for a while, but eventually he looked up, frowning at her.

“Why are you still here? I have no more need of you.”

“Perhaps it’s I who have need of you.”

Fabien leaned back and narrowed his eyes. “What do you want? More money to spend on your trinkets and clothes? I thought you had been given adequate funds to maintain the appearance of aristocracy.”

Sophie clenched her hands in anger at the taunt in his voice though she took care to not let it show when she spoke. 

“It’s not that. It’s-”, she paused, her rehearsed phrases suddenly sounding incoherent and vague in her head. She took a deep breath and then continued. “My mother kept me ignorant and used me as a tool. You want use me as well, but I would much rather know what I am doing. You want me to be like a falcon you can release on the unsuspecting prey, isn’t that so? But you wouldn’t release a falcon untrained, would you?”

Fabien eyed her with something close to interest. 

“So you are telling me you could be a weapon and it would be in my best interest to keep this weapon sharp. And know how to wield it, no doubt, lest I get it in my back if I’m not careful.”

Sophie raised her chin. “Yes.” 

He gave her a long hard stare and Sophie had to fight the urge to turn around and run. She fully expected him to order her to leave anyway, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cowed. 

“And what is it you want more precisely? Are you trying out another seduction game? You ought to realise I won’t be amenable to it, and your efforts are clumsy.”

Sophie swallowed again, her nervosity had turned her mouth parched. “I’m not. And I know I’m not good at it, but I think I need to learn how. I know very little about men and there is no one but you I can ask for help. I want you to show me what men want, so I can learn how to handle them.”

Her words made him sneer. “Didn’t your builder demonstrate that for you?”

To her annoyance she could feel herself blush. “We kissed, nothing more.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s the truth! He wanted to do more, but I didn’t. Not then, when everything was different. Now- now I need to understand or I fear it will destroy me. So please, show me.”

There was another uncomfortable silence, and then Fabien rose from his chair..

“Very well. Your proposal is acceptable.”

Sophie gave him a glance from under her eyelashes, not daring to look at him straight in the eye. Her imagination had taken her this far, but now when she had succeeded, she did not know what to expect. He was suddenly close to her, closer than he had ever been before and she noticed, to her relief, that neither his breath nor his body stank. That was more than could be said about many of the men at court. With a shudder of disgust she remembered Cassel’s vile breath which had seemed to cling to her like a poisonous miasma. But the only thing Sophie’s sensitive nose picked up from Fabien was the scent of clean linen and soap perfumed with herbs. 

Later she thought she should have guessed what was to come next, but his next words took her wholly by surprise.

“Take off your gown.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter only grew longer and longer, so I decided to cut it in two and make this a three-chapter story instead.

At Fabien’s words, Sophie took a step back in surprise. She had expected something like this, but she still hesitated. 

“So, it was just pretty words without meaning. What did you think I would do- recite love poems?”

The contempt was back in his voice and Sophie could feel herself shrink under his cold glare.

“I know you don’t like me”, she said, her voice wavering a little.

Fabien shrugged. “I feel nothing for you. And I don’t trust you.”

He wouldn’t, Sophie knew that, but she had no other choice than to trust him. She needed him and she had to make sure he would not discard her. If he decided she was not useful for him, the best she could hope for, were the streets. She was not so sheltered she didn’t know what would happen to her there. But Fabien might as well kill her. The threat of meeting the same fate as her mother would always hang over her. Safety was a fragile thing, wholly dependant on the man before her.

Sophie’s chin went up again as her resolve hardened. Her fingers fumbled with the jewelled clasp of her belt and opened it. There were nothing else to keep her gown closed, and now it slid down over her shoulder. She shrugged the gown off, letting it pool around her feet. A shiver went through her, not solely caused by the cool air in the room. The low-cut corset left most of her breasts bare. Even if her chemise covered her nipples, the fabric was so sheer it was almost transparent, and Sophie resisted an urge to cover her bosom with her hands. It would only provoke another snide remark, so instead she raised her arms and removed the hairpins, shaking her long black curls free.

Almost as if he couldn’t help it, Fabien reached out a hand and touched her hair, running his fingers through the silky length.

“You are beautiful”, he told her. “There is no denying that. And there will be a lot of men who will want to worship your beauty. Even love you.”

“This is not about feelings. This is about learning.”

“So you say.”

Fabien took her hand, turned it and softly kissed her palm. It was an unexpectedly tender gesture, and Sophie draw her breath sharply. He pulled her closer, his hands softly caressing her arms, then her neck and down over her chest, his fingers finding their way inside her chemise.

“Many men will undoubtedly be happy to beg to touch you like this.”

All of a sudden Sophie no longer felt cold. This differed from how it had been with Benoit. She had enjoyed kissing him, but they always turned too eager. His hands always searching her body with an urgency which had alarmed her. Fabien’s touch was slow and measured, allowing Sophie to get used to the new sensations. He walked forward so she had to step back, and when her legs pushed into the desk, he took her around the waist and lifted her to sit on it. He bowed his head, and she thought he would kiss her mouth. Instead he kissed her throat, butterfly kisses all the way down to the swell of her bosom and beyond. Her petticoats were pulled up and Fabien spread her legs apart, his hand between them.

“Oh”, Sophie murmured. Her breath quickened and without meaning to she clutched his shoulders to keep her balance. Suddenly the only thing she could think of was how it felt to have his lips against her skin while his hand continued to tease her. She could feel herself grow wet and increasingly more sensitive. Her body pressed closer to Fabien’s hand of its own accord and he responded with moving his fingers faster. Sophie tensed as everything inside her seemed to want to rush to that same point between her legs. It felt as if she was falling even if Fabien’s arm held her upright. Before she had sometimes awoke from her sleep, her body shaking with an echo of a feeling she didn’t know what to call. Now this feeling was upon her in full force and she drowned inside it. Then it drained away, leaving her oddly fatigued. She leaned against Fabien's chest, unable to find enough strength to move away from him.

“Had enough?”

Sophie found her breath and straightened, not daring to look him in the face.

“I don’t know. Is this all?” 

“Hardly.”

Sophie blushed. “It was- I liked it. But-”

“But what?”

“You say most men would like this, but what about men like Cassel? They are different. I don’t think he would want to treat me like this.”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“I want to know what his kind want. Show me what men like him would like to do to me.”

“Are you sure about that? I don’t think you would like it much.”

“Yes, I am.”

But despite her resolve Sophie was not prepared when his hand raked through her hair, grabbing a handful and tugging her head painfully back. She cried out and tried to shy away, involuntary pushing against his breast despite her resolve. Fabien quickly took both her wrists in one hand, holding her easily. The mouth which had kissed her so gently now bore down on her with sharp teeth, nipping delicate skin as he moved over her skin.

“They will want to hurt you. They will want to take, not have what is freely given.”

He spun her around and pushed her face forward down on the table, yanking her petticoats up, above her waist. One hand pressed down on the small of her back, rendering her immobile despite her attempt to wriggle away. It was not a complete surprise when the palm of his hand smacked down hard on her buttocks. Sophie squirmed, but accomplished nothing but getting a harder slap. She almost screamed out loud, but bit her lip instead. She would not give him the satisfaction of screaming her surrender. With no way out, she had no other choice than to bear the onslaught of strikes. It was painful, but gradually she realised that after the first sting of his palm against her skin, a wave of pleasure followed. Heat radiated through her body, and her earlier excitement returned, stronger than before. Sophie wriggled again, not to get away, but to relieve the mounting tension in her body.

“Please”, she pleaded, not quite sure if she was begging him to stop or go on. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“I- Please. Touch me again.”

Fabien stopped abruptly, released her and stepped away. Sophie stayed where she was for a few moments, then she stood up on shaking legs, smoothing her petticoats down. He was once again seated, and had picked up his quill again, as if nothing at all had happened.

“Go away. I’ve shown you enough. You are as wanton as any woman. I pity the poor men who won’t be able to see beyond your pretty face and form. I doubt you will have any problem in handling them.”

Sophie picked up her gown from the floor. She felt humiliated all while her body was still screaming for more. Angrily she told herself his touch had been nothing but hateful to her, even if she knew it had not. It was not fair he had managed to send her in this state of emotion while he himself seemed completely unperturbed by what had happened. But when Sophie looked at him more closely she saw that his hand shook a little as he wrote, the letters not as smoothly formed as before. And though his face was unreadable, his colour was heightened, and he was breathing hard. Sophie smiled a little. No, he was not unaffected, he was merely better at self control than she was.

“No,” she said. Fabien looked up sharply, but Sophie met his gaze without flinching. This time it was she who walked up to him. She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned down. “No. It’s not enough. I want to know what a man like you want. Show me.”

His breath caught even if his answer was a dismissal. ”Not an inexperienced maiden, anyway.”

“Do something about my ignorance then. You told me yourself perceived innocence counts here, not what is real. And I don’t need my ignorance anymore. You have made me want you tonight, Fabien. Don’t you want me?”

He closed his eyes and his jaws clenched. For a moment Sophie thought she had gone too far, but then he pulled her down into his lap, her legs straddling him.

“I do. God help me.”

Through all the layers of clothing Sophie could feel how hard he was, then he released her enough to free himself. Feverishly she tugged at her petticoats, his hands were against her bare skin once more. He pulled her down again, and Sophie didn’t hesitate but allowed her body to go where he wanted it. She was prepared for pain, but though the first thrust was painful, she found that as she slowly withdrew and then sank back against him again how the pain quickly receded. His hands on her hips helped her find a rhythm, and as she moved faster, the pleasure increased.

Fabien groaned against her breasts and Sophie let her hands tangle into his hair and she pulled his head back. She kissed him and his grip grew so hard she was sure it would give her bruises.

“I hate you”, she whispered in his ear “I hate you.”

Over and over again she said it as their movements became faster until she lost her breath. Her body tensed and she fell again, the pleasure this time much stronger. Slumping against him she could feel his body tensing too, holding her tightly against him. He kissed her temple, and he whispered back:

“Hate me as much as you want, falcon. You still belong to me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sophie untangled her hair with her fingers, turning away from Fabien as she put it up again with jerky and impatient movements. Earlier she had resisted him when he had told her to leave, now she wanted nothing else. She wasn’t sure why she felt so upset, her plan had, after all, worked out perfectly. If she could persuade Fabien she was prepared to do anything he wanted, regardless of his demands, then she could convince him to teach her to do it better. He may not trust her, but if she could become someone he relied upon, then she would be safe. But she hadn’t been prepared to enjoy herself so much tonight. Sophie hadn’t known her body could burn like this and she felt ashamed it had been with a man she hated. 

She felt a surge of self-disgust and when she turned around, Sophie could see her own feelings mirrored in Fabien’s face. It was only for a moment before he schooled his features into their usual unreadable state, but it was enough for all Sophie’s conflicting emotions to turn into anger.

“Can I go now?”

It was an unfair question, and she knew it.

“As if I have done anything to keep you. What’s the matter? You have satisfied your little whim, and now you can’t wait to leave. You really are just like your mother.”

“I’m nothing like her!”

“And still your conduct suggest you were a good little disciple to her. Undoubtedly she would have been very proud over you tonight.” 

The scornful words rankled and without considering the consequences, Sophie raised her hand to strike him. All for nought, he caught her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back.

“You are hurting me!”

“You liked it well enough only moments ago.”

“And it exited you. Did you enjoy doing that to my mother too? Did you beat her before you killed her?”

Fabien suddenly turned very still. His eyes seemed to grew darker, and what little colour there was in his face drained away. It was a frightening change, and Sophie realised she had gone too far. She had pushed Fabien the whole evening, hoping she could rattle him out of his self-control. He had destroyed her life, and she had wanted so badly to shake him out of his infuriating calm. Now the sinking feeling in her stomach told her she had been a fool. Even if he had frightened her before, she hadn’t been nearly as afraid as she should have been. She had been playing with fire and now she would be burned. His free hand clenched as if he was readying himself to hit her. It wouldn’t be smarting slaps against a well-padded bottom this time, but blows which broke noses and shattered cheekbones. In panic Sophie tried to jerk free, but he only tightened his grip and she mewled in pain.

But then a little colour seeped back into Fabien’s face, and some of the tension left his body. Without letting go of her, he picked up a candle, and left the room, forcing Sophie with him. She stumbled, prevented from falling only by the hard grip around her arm. 

The purpose of the room Fabien brought her to was clear as soon as she stepped inside. The air was rank, a stench of dried blood and fear. A feeble candle flame was not enough to light up much of the interior, but she saw enough to terrify her. She had heard of this room, it was a favourite topic in a certain form on unsavoury gossip at court. Fabien Marshal's torture chamber who very few emerged from alive. He dragged her to a long table and let her go, raising his arm so the light fell on a collection tools laying there. After a quick glance Sophie tried to turn away, but a vice like grip at the back of her neck forced her to look again. Without apparent hurry he explained to her every gruesome use the instruments had. Sophie was crying in sheer terror now, convinced that as soon as he stopped talking, he would demonstrate exactly what he could do with them. 

He put down the cable on the table, but instead of picking up one of the tools, he reached into his doublet and removed a small bottle and held it up before Sophie’s eyes.

“Do you know what this is? It is everything I have on the table, in just a few drops. Not that you realise it, not at first. It begins with a slight discomfort, easy to ignore. Then the pain comes, stabbing into your guts like a knife. You cough blood, and the pain grow worse, radiating through your whole body. Your head will start to ache and the light hurt your eyes, making it difficult to see. Then comes the vomiting, but it does not relieve the pain, it amplifies it. Your mouth grows dry, and makes your tongue swell, making speech painful and slow. Even breathing becomes a burden, but you welcome it because it means you are still alive. The poison in this little flask nearly became my end. Tell me, would I not be in my right to hate the person who did this and to seek my revenge?”

Sophie, desperately trying to stifle her sobs, managed a nod. Fabien pocketed the bottle again and finally let her go. She lurched back, away from him. Her back met the cold stone walls, and she half turned, pressing her heated face against it. Now she could close her eyes against the surrounding horrors, but she could not close out Fabien’s voice as he continued to speak.

“It was your mother who poisoned me. She tricked me to drink it, and then she sat at my sick bed, telling me sweet lies. So caring and so gentle and watching me die slowly and painfully without ever betraying her true nature. I got away, but I was not her only victim. And it could have been worse, it could have been the King. Her guilt was beyond question- did you think she died because of my wounded pride? Yes, I ordered your mother’s death, and I looked her in the eye when she died. But I never raised my hand against her and she didn't die in here.”

The room went very silent when he stopped speaking. Sophie felt cold and tired, wishing she was somewhere else. Wishing, most of all, to be a child again whose mother would be there for comfort and safety. But there was no one left to fend for Sophie but Sophie herself. If she disappeared as her mother had, there would be no one who would care. She had mishandled what little accord there had been between her and Fabien and she doubted she could do much to repair it. But she had to try and steeling herself she looked up at him. 

“I know why you must think I’m like her, but you are wrong. I have nothing but disdain for what she really believed in, and for what she did. She raised me to be a good Catholic and a loyal subject to the King. It may have been a lie for her, but for me it is the truth. That is who I am. But she was still my mother, and I loved her. I think of what happened to her every day and I dream nightmares about it at night. I would do anything for peace of mind, to get some kind of closure. If I could see her grave-”

“There is no grave.”

Sophie shuddered at the implication of that, but continued. “Where she died then? If it was not in this room, then could I go there? I beg of you, please, will you show me?”

Fabien watched her for a moment, then he took the candle and left the room. He left the door open, and after a brief hesitation Sophie followed him back to his office. He had picked up his cloak and now he wrapped it around her shoulders. Her surprise over the gesture only lessened slightly when he opened a door and stepped outside. He led her out into the vast garden of Versailles, the full moon giving them such good light he blew out the candle. The night air felt pleasantly cool against Sophie’s face, but her high heeled silk slippers were not meant for walking and would be ruined. It was a long walk, first through the immaculate gardens close to the palace, and then through the more informal pastures beyond. Sophie looked at Fabien’s silent back and wondered what he was thinking about. He had always seemed so completely in control, and she had never considered what he had felt about it all. His anger seemed to have abated, and she didn’t feel afraid anymore, only bewildered.

At long last they reached a place close to where the forests began. The moonlight rendered the world black and white, but Sophie knew it would be painted in soft greens during the day. It was a beautiful place, peaceful even, and Fabien stopped.

“Here,” he said, indicating a spot on the ground. “She kneeled down here.”

Sophie stepped closer, feeling a peculiar mixture of curiousness and revulsion. There was nothing to see, too many weeks had passed and wind and rain would have erased any traces a long time ago. She fell down on her knees herself and looked up at the man before her.

“Like this?”

Fabien made a small movement, almost like a flinch. “Yes.”

“Was she afraid?”

“Everyone is afraid when they face death. But she died with dignity and grace.”

Sophie put her hand on the ground, wondering what her mother had thought in her last moments. Had she thought of Sophie at all, regretting she would never see her daughter again? Or had she only thought of the schemes she had failed to succeed at? Sophies’ eyes filled with tears again. Beatrice had lived in a world Sophie had known nothing about, working for a goal Sophie could never have shared.

“I know what the death of a traitor entails. It is filled with pain and public humiliation. Why did you spare her that fate?”

“Perhaps I’m not quite as monstrous as you think I am.”

His words made her look away. It suddenly seemed all too possible he could carry his own private regrets, and she didn’t know what to say. It would have been comforting if she had believed her mother innocent and only the victim of Fabien’s viciousness. She had always known it was not that simple, but before she had ignored it. After tonight she knew she could no longer be an oblivious little girl, hiding in half-truths. Sophie felt exhausted, but there was still one more thing she wanted to do before the night was over.

“Thank you,” she said, eventually. “I have grieved there was no last rites for my mother and no Mass. I never realised before they are rituals which meant nothing for her and she would not have wanted them even if it had been possible.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

“It means something to me, though. I’m going to the chapel now to pray for her soul. For my sake as much as hers. Will you join me?”

There was a brief pause before he nodded. “Yes, I will.”

Fabien held out his hand helped Sophie to her feet, and side by side they returned to the castle together.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a sequel in progress.
> 
> If you are interested in historical fashion, then it may interest you that the gown Sophie wears is called a mantua which became popular in the 1670’s. I was very much thinking of this portrait when I envisaged Sophie gown:
> 
>   
> ([The Artist’s Children by Claude Lefèbvre, ca. 1670-75](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:La-fille-ainee-de-l-artiste-coiffant-son-frere---claude-lefebvre.jpg))


End file.
